Wrong Number, Right Woman Page 7

  “Hey, Denny.” Julie stuck her head into the room. “The electric pallet jack isn’t working. Can you come take a look?”

  “Me?” Denny sent her an incredulous stare. “Do I look like a pallet jack mechanic or something? Just because I’m butch doesn’t mean I love power tools and can fix everything that’s broken!”

  Julie held out both hands. “Whoa! A simple no would have been enough. What’s up with you today? You’ve been as cheery as a porcupine with hemorrhoids all day.”

  The colorful comparison broke through Denny’s mood and elicited a tired smile. “Sorry, I…” She ran a hand through her hair, not sure how to explain. “I’ll come take a look. Maybe I can fix it.” With one regretful gaze back, she closed her locker.

  A low buzz drifted through the metal.

  Sneaker Woman! Denny threw the locker door open so fast it bounced back and nearly hit her fingers. She snatched the phone and unlocked.

  “Wow,” Julie said from the door, “whoever that is really has you wrapped around their little finger!”

  Denny ignored her and opened the messages app.

  Damn. Her shoulders slumped. It wasn’t Sneaker Woman. The message was from an unknown number.

  She opened it anyway, just not as eagerly.

  Hey, Whisperer. It’s me—Sneaker Woman.

  Denny wouldn’t have needed that clarification since no one else called her Whisperer. Her heartbeat picked up, but she kept her response casual, as if she hadn’t been waiting for a text all day. Hi. New phone?

  No, not yet. I stole my mom’s.

  Why would she need to do that? Denny frowned. I didn’t know you had plans to see your family this weekend.

  I didn’t. The entire clan descended on me to make sure I’m fine. After a short pause, a second text popped up. I had a little accident on my way home last night.

  What? Denny’s heartbeat thudded in her ears.

  Julie cleared her throat and tapped her wristwatch. “The pallet jack is waiting.”

  “Give me a minute,” Denny said, more sharply than intended. “This is important. I think something happened to Snea… my friend.” Her fingers flew over the tiny letters as she tapped out, What happened? At least half a dozen graphic scenarios shot through her mind, leaving her queasy.

  I was riding my bike home from the bar, and some guy opened the door of his SUV right in front of me. With the wet street, I couldn’t stop or swerve out of the way in time, so I had an intimate encounter with the door.

  Denny slumped against the locker as her knees weakened. Her fingers shook as she typed a reply. OMG! Are you okay?

  Yeah, I’m fine. Just a few scrapes and bruises. Luckily, my bike’s front tire took the brunt of the impact. My phone is toast too. It fell from my pocket when I got tossed from my bike, and now the screen is cracked. Thankfully, I know your number by heart now.

  Why was Sneaker Woman talking about her phone? Denny was worried about her, not the damn phone! What did the doctor say?

  I haven’t seen one, Sneaker Woman replied. Nothing they can do about scrapes and bruises.

  That reply did nothing to ease Denny’s concern. You should go to the ER. Get checked out. You could have a concussion or something.

  I didn’t even hit my head. I wasn’t going full speed when I hit the door, I just hadn’t come to a complete stop because the asphalt was wet.

  Still, Denny answered.

  I’m fine. My dad and one of my sisters are nurses, my brother’s a physician assistant, and my other sister is a paramedic. They all insisted on checking me out, and the diagnosis is unanimous. I’ll live to see another day—unless my mom catches me up and about when she thinks I should be on the couch with an ice pack.

  Denny’s white-knuckled grip on the phone loosened. Sneaker Woman was fine, and she had contacted her, which meant she was fine with Denny’s sexual orientation. Don’t worry. I won’t rat you out.

  Uh, good to know because I don’t think I’d be up for anything like that, especially right now.

  Was it just her, or was that reply a little off? She wished she could check on Sneaker Woman, but she didn’t even know her name, much less where she lived. Are you sure you’re okay?

  Yeah. But I discovered that it hurts to laugh. Read what you’ve just written.

  Denny scrolled up.

  Don’t worry. I won’t eat you out, her text said.

  Heat flamed up her neck and flooded her cheeks. She had been so distracted by her concern for Sneaker Woman that she hadn’t paid attention to what she was typing. That’s not what I wrote! Damn autocorrect! RAT! I won’t rat you out. God, kill me now!

  Um, didn’t we just talk about that? Sneaker Woman sent a row of crying-laughing emojis.

  About what? Killing her? Denny re-read her last message. Dammit! Autocorrect had corrected what she had typed to, God, kiss me now!

  KILL me now! Autocorrect changed it to kiss again, but this time, she caught it before sending the message and changed it back.

  Sneaker Woman sent more laughing emojis. Sorry, I’m not up to killing or kissing anyone right now.

  Denny’s face still burned, but at least she had cheered Sneaker Woman up. She peeked at Julie, who waited by the door.

  “Is your friend okay?” Julie asked.

  “Yeah. More or less.” Denny still wasn’t fully convinced Sneaker Woman wasn’t downplaying her injuries. Listen, I have to get back to work, but there’s something I need to know first.

  I really am fine, Sneaker Woman replied. Promise.

  Good, but that’s not it. Denny slid her glasses higher up on her nose. I’d like to know your name.

  Sneaker Woman didn’t reply for several seconds.

  Denny held her breath. In the more than three weeks since they had been texting each other, she had been the one to insist on not exchanging names, but now the need to know was overwhelming.

  Eliza, Sneaker Woman finally answered. Eliza Harrison. I’m not giving you my middle name, because my mother’s already used it on me fifty-four times in the last hour.

  Denny mentally repeated the name to herself. Eliza. That name fit her. Nice to meet you, Eliza. Sort of.

  Likewise, Eliza replied.

  Denny paused, knowing she needed to go but not wanting to.

  Whisperer? Hey, you still there? Eliza asked. Don’t think you can leave without telling me your name.

  It’s Denny Jacobs, she answered.

  Denny? Not Jenny? That’s not your autocorrect taking over again, is it?

  No, Denny replied. It’s short for Denver.

  Denver?

  Long story. Denny glanced at Julie, who tapped her foot. I’ll tell you next time I speak with you.

  Only once she had already sent off the message did she realize that autocorrect had changed speak to sleep.

  Fucking autocorrect! Why did it have its technological mind in the gutter when she was exchanging texts with Eliza of all people? The person who had invented that thing should burn in hell.

  But maybe it was her own fault. In the beginning, she had always re-read what she had written before sending, but over the last few weeks, she had become less careful when texting with Eliza.

  “Denny!” Julie drew out her name as if it had eight syllables. “The boss is going to kill us—if I don’t kill you first!”

  Talk later, Denny typed. She caught a glimpse of several laughing emojis Sneaker Woman…Eliza had sent, then tossed her phone into the locker, shut it, and hurried after Julie.

  Well, they said laughter was the best medicine, so at least her embarrassing autocorrect snafus should speed up the healing process.

  Eliza clutched her ribs and gasped for breath. She was laughing so hard, she struggled to type a goodbye.

  Her mother rushed from the kitchenette and perched on the edge of the couch. “Oh God, honey! Are you in pain! Want me to call your dad or a doctor or…?” She looked around for her phone and found it in Eliza’s hand.

  “No, no, I’m fine.” Eli
za reined in her laughter and handed the phone back. “Something my friend said just made me laugh, and that hurts like he…heck.”

  Her mother leaned over her and brushed aside a strand of hair that had tumbled onto Eliza’s face. “How do you feel?”

  Eliza gave her a crooked grin. “Like I’ve been hit by a truck…or an SUV, to be exact.”

  “Don’t joke about it. That could have ended badly.”

  “But it didn’t, Mom. No use focusing on the negative.”

  A knock came at the door, then Heather used her key to let herself in. She’d been checking in on her every hour since Eliza had returned to their apartment building with a bike that looked like a pretzel last night. “Hey, how are you doing?”

  “I’m fine,” Eliza said. “Could everyone please stop acting like I’m at death’s door?”

  Heather studied the floor as if the bamboo had formed new, fascinating patterns overnight. “I feel really bad that I let you ride your bike home in the rain.”

  Eliza’s mother got up from the couch and gave Heather a hug. “It’s not your fault, honey. I could never make that one,” she pointed at Eliza, “do anything she didn’t want to do, even when she was three years old.”

  The sight of their warm embrace made Eliza smile, and she forgot her annoyance at their overprotectiveness. She was so grateful her mother—her entire family—had practically adopted Heather into the clan. Heather’s parents barely acknowledged her existence since she had transitioned, and while Eliza knew her family couldn’t replace the one Heather had been born into, she hoped it helped at least a little.

  After a moment, Heather freed herself and squeezed into the same spot Eliza’s mother had been in before, on the edge of the sofa. A wrinkle formed on Heather’s otherwise smooth brow as she studied her. “Is there anything I can get you?”

  “Another Passionate from Miles Away?” Eliza answered with a hopeful look.

  Heather firmly shook her head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, just in case you do have a concussion.”

  “Spoilsport.”

  “Anything else?” Heather asked.

  One thing came to mind immediately. “I need a new phone.”

  Heather jumped up, managing not to hit her knee on the coffee table. “Be right back.”

  Eliza grabbed hold of her friend’s shirt before she could rush from the room. The sudden movement made pain shoot through her bruised body, but she held on. “Wait! I didn’t mean for you to go buy me one.”

  A snort escaped Heather. “How much money do you think school bus drivers make? I’m getting you my old one. It’s not fancy, but it still works. You can use it to text your mystery woman until you get a new one.”

  A warm flush washed over Eliza. “It’s not like I’m texting only her. If I don’t check in and assure the rest of the family that I’m fine at least once an hour, they’ll show up on my doorstep with an ambulance.” Softly, she added, “Besides, her name is Denny. Not Mystery Woman.”

  “Denny.” Heather smacked her lips as if tasting the name.

  “It’s short for Denver, not Danielle,” Eliza added.

  Heather tilted her head. “So did your near-death experience finally convince her to tell you her name?”

  Eliza rolled her eyes toward the high ceiling. “Jeez, it’s a couple of scrapes and bruises, not a near-death experience!”

  “But it did get her to tell you her name,” Heather said.

  “Yes, it did.” Eliza couldn’t wait to hear how she had ended up with a name like Denver. But first, Heather had to get her a phone. “Shoo. Phone. Now.”

  Laughing, Heather walked backward to the door. “I’m going, I’m going.”

  When the door clicked shut behind her, Eliza turned her attention toward her mother, who had been unusually quiet during the past few minutes. “You can leave too, Mom. I’m fine on my own. I know you have to finish the illustrations for the Bailey the Boar book.”

  “I will in a minute,” her mother murmured, gazing at her phone. She looked up and studied Eliza with a carefully neutral expression. “New friend?” She held up the phone.

  Eliza hesitated for a second before nodding. It might seem strange to call someone a friend even though they had never met, but Whisperer…Denny had become an important part of her day. It had been strange to wake up this morning without finding a message waiting for her or being able to check in with her.

  “If she’s more than a friend, you could tell me; you know that, right?” her mother said quietly.

  Eliza nearly rolled off the couch. She tried to sit up without putting pressure on her many bruises. “Why would you think that?”

  Her mother gestured at the phone.

  “Mom! You’re not supposed to read my messages!”

  “I didn’t mean to, but they were on my phone and the messages app was still open…and she said something about, um, sleeping with you.”

  “She didn’t,” Eliza said quickly. “Not really. She said ‘speak with me’ or something like that, and autocorrect changed it.” At least her mom hadn’t scrolled farther to read the message about eating her out.

  “Oh.”

  Eliza eyed her mother. “You know, I can’t tell if you’re relieved or disappointed that I’m not sleeping with her.”

  “Maybe a little of both.” Her mother chuckled. “You know I’m a hopeless romantic. I just want you to find someone—not necessarily a woman, but if it was…” She shrugged. “I’d be fine with that.”

  A wave of love and gratitude swept over Eliza. She had to swallow the lump in her throat before she could speak. “Have I told you lately how much I love you?”

  “Yes—earlier, when I sent your dad and your siblings away.” Her mother laughed, but her eyes were damp.

  “Then I’ll say it again. But please don’t start waiting for a daughter-in-law, okay? If you ever get one, it’ll be because Ryan and Nichole are finally tying the knot, not because I’m marrying a woman.”

  Heather let herself back into the apartment. She stopped two steps in, phone in hand, and gave Eliza a wide-eyed look. “Marrying a woman? Is there something you want to tell me?”

  Eliza buried her face in her hands and groaned into her palms. “God, you two are too much.”

  The next day, Denny had a rare Sunday off, so she lounged in bed until she heard Bella come downstairs and start rooting through the cupboards for something to eat. She quickly threw back the covers, knowing she would find pieces of cereal in every nook and cranny of the kitchen for weeks if she left Bella to her own devices.

  Once she had saved her niece from certain starvation by making blueberry pancakes, she settled down at the table with a stack of pancakes for herself.

  She was midway through eating them when her phone buzzed.

  Denny’s gaze darted to the counter, then to Bella. They had a firm rule against books and screens at the table, so she couldn’t get up to check her messages. Sometimes, being a role model sucked.

  It was probably a text from Eliza. How was she doing this morning? Had she been able to sleep, bruised as she was?

  For once, Denny finished her stack of pancakes before her niece did and then waited impatiently for Bella to eat the last bite of hers.

  Just when Bella had cleared her plate, Salem came downstairs, yawning and running her hand through her sleep-tousled hair. “Yum. I thought I smelled pancakes.” She stopped to kiss Bella’s head, then did the same to Denny. “Thanks for letting me sleep in and for making breakfast. Can I have some too?”

  Suppressing a sigh, Denny got up to make another stack. When she passed her phone, she gave it a longing look but resisted the urge to check her messages. It would have to wait a little longer.

  Salem dug into her pancakes with the same gusto as Bella had. “Yeah, yeah, I know,” she said, mouth half full. “Slow down and…”

  “…chew your food,” Bella finished for her.

  It was what Denny had been telling both of them for years. But today, she
remained silent.

  “You’re not joining in? What’s up with you?” Salem put down her fork and reached across the table to feel Denny’s forehead.

  Denny batted her hand away. “Nothing.” But she couldn’t stop herself from peering at her phone again.

  Salem turned to see what she was looking at.

  Bella used the moment she was facing away to steal one of her pancakes.

  “Now I get it,” Salem said in a teasing singsong. “Waiting for a text from Sandal Girl?”

  “It’s Sneaker Woman, Mom.” Bella swiped a piece of the stolen pancake through the maple syrup on her plate and glanced at Denny. “Or is this another girl you’re texting?”

  “No, it’s still the same woman.” Denny shook her head at her niece. “Jeez, who do you think I am? The female Casanova?”

  Salem gave her a cheeky grin. “No one has ever accused you of that; that’s for sure.”

  “Remind me again why I made breakfast for the two of you?” Denny grumbled.

  “Because we’re cute,” they both said at the same time, then high-fived each other.

  “Yeah, very cute.” Denny pointed at the syrup dribbling down Salem’s chin.

  Salem wiped it off and gestured toward the phone with her fork. “So, what’s up with the two of you?”

  “Nothing’s up.” Denny swallowed to get rid of the sudden lump in her throat. “She was in a bike accident on Friday night. Some assho… uh, careless person opened their door right in front of her, and she smashed into it.”

  Salem sobered instantly. “Jesus, Denny, is she okay?”

  Denny just nodded because that lump was still there.

  “Why didn’t you tell us sooner?”

  Denny shrugged. It was the first time she’d made a new friend in ages, and that friendship felt like something to nurture and protect, not share.

  Salem tilted her chair back and reached out her arm to grab Denny’s phone. “Here. Call her.”

  “No, we’re not doing that,” Denny said but took the phone anyway. “We just text.”

  “Calling people is so 2010, Mom,” Bella informed her.

  Now that the phone was in her hand, Denny could no longer resist. While her sister and niece debated whether calling people was old-school, she unlocked her phone and checked her messages.